I'm Always with You
by St. Harridan
Summary: With her last breath, Yachiru gives Zaraki a final reminder. Kenpachi/first!Yachiru


**Just needed a little tragedy in the midst of all the Kenpachi and Yachiru fluff. Sorry if this came out all melodramatic.**

**And, just to clarify this (because _some _people still don't get it), this _first _Yachiru literally means _the first Yachiru_. She's the child Kusajishi Yachiru's namesake, the one person whom Kenpachi ever admired.**

* * *

><p><span>I'm Always with You<span>

She was cold, so cold. He could barely look at her without feeling sharp stabs of guilt, of shame and fear, in his heart. They hurt more than he could ever imagine. Sharper than a million zanpakuto, they pierced him through and thorough, intense blades of fire that left severe, almost fatal burns.

And all he could do was stare at her, the woman who had once been so jovial, so cheerful, now reduced to nothing more than a limp mass in his arms. She had shrivelled to nothing but a skeleton wrapped up in skin. Her cheeks were hollow; the circles were dark under and around her eyes, the arch of her throat knobbly.

Despite being used to her sickness, he had never seen her in such a state. Usually, it was her skin that radiated warmth, her smile that directed him through the evils of that hell – she was his light within that darkness. But now, it seemed like the roles had been reversed. She was grasping onto his torn haori with her weak fingers as if he was her anchor, like he was the only one that could save her from the impending end.

He, on the other hand, had naught a clue as to what he should do. Hold her? Comfort her? Leave her to go and find some help? He had considered that last choice for a moment, but she seemed to know what he was thinking and held onto him even tighter. Her eyes were closed, but the feel in her grip was one that begged not to be abandoned.

He'd never abandon her, not in a million years, not even if he were to be offered the strongest opponent he could ever face – he'd never leave her side, and so he stayed with her, held her in a tight embrace while she shivered and coughed into his chest.

"D'ye need water?" he muttered into her hair. She shook her head slightly, the best that she could master. He chose to stay quiet then, just caressing her hair with what little gentleness he managed to conjure up in his rough hands. She seemed to be content with it, turning her face into his chest and curling up in pain as a coughing fit seized her.

"Ye need water, Yachiru."

"No…" she rasped, pulling his haori weakly. "Just…just stay with me, please."

Never had she begged him for something, and now that she did, a surge of fear that he had never felt before seized him. Swallowing, he ran a hand up and down her back, trying his best to soothe her trembling shoulders.

After a moment, when her illness seemed to have elapsed, even if it was just for a short while, she reached into the folds of her ragged kimono and, with what little strength that she had left, fished out a small brown pouch. She pressed it against his chest, mouthing incoherent words that he could only make out once he leaned down and put his ear to her chapped lips.

"For you," she whispered. Curious, he loosened the string that held the pouch in place and looked inside. In it sat eleven little bells, as new as they had once been. He looked at her, puzzled, but the strained smile he received in return wasn't very much to his liking.

"This ain't no time t'be playin' games, Yachiru!"

She let out a hoarse chuckle, one that tore at her throat, and he growled in warning. He didn't like where this was going. If she were to have any strange ideas floating about her mind, he would have to make them disappear before she really settled and submitted to them. That was the very last thing that he wanted.

"Those bells… They're my lucky charm," she murmured, fingering the pouch affectionately. "Take them… I won't need them…any longer."

"I ain't takin' 'em, ye dumbass," he hissed, placing it carefully on her stomach. "I ain't takin' 'em 'cause ye're gonna need 'em when ye get better."

"You know…you know what's happening." She closed her eyes as if she were disappointed in him. "You can't deny it. Everyone…_every_one dies, there's no…escaping it."

"But it ain't yer fuckin' time t'die, dumbass." Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her. "Fuck ye'n yer nonsense – I ain't buyin' it."

"Hm…" He didn't like the smile on her face at that very moment, didn't like that tone of her voice and how she only bothered to mutter a single syllable – it drove him mad, and though he felt like slicing her head clean off to get it over and done with, something that lurked in the deepest, darkest corners of his heart made him stay his blade, utilizing his hands to caress her hair and back instead of reaching for his zanpakuto.

He swallowed and buried his nose in her hair, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Don't go."

With a tired sigh, she reached out a trembling hand and rested it on his head.

"Sorry."

"Shut the fuck up." He took in a sharp breath and let it out to steady himself, but it was in vain. Everything that he did now seemed to be for nothing. His meagre words of comfort, ones that only she can decipher when others saw them as threats and mere badmouthing, couldn't even quell the tears that started welling up in her eyes. His touch, though gentle, wasn't of much help either.

"Don't go, damn it," he muttered, almost pleadingly.

"You'll be fine…on your own." She touched her fingers to his face, traced the long scar over his eye and down his cheek. "You'll be fine… You don't need me…anymore."

"Goddamn it, 'Chiru!"

"No, listen," she brushed a lock of hair out his face and fixated her gaze on him. He was immediately transfixed – her eyes never failed to entrance him, but this time, he didn't feel the usual warmth from them. All he felt was dread.

"I just want to say…well," she seemed to catch herself, chuckling meekly at her own carelessness, "there really isn't…much to say, is there?"

"Fuck, 'Chiru, don't-"

"But remember," here she gently traced a fingertip across his dry lips, cutting him off, before letting her hand fall. He caught it, held it tightly against his chest, but she was already drifting off. The last thing he heard before she finally allowed her eyelids to drift to a close was a faint whisper that still haunts him to this day:

"I'm always with you."

* * *

><p><strong>A review would be nice. :)<strong>


End file.
